


as the flowers wilt and my will wanes

by Reva



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M, Introspection, Jealousy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 22:53:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13281579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reva/pseuds/Reva
Summary: Sometimes, when she walked down the steps in the early morning- when the light would reflected off the dust floating in the air- she would see a glimpse of her ghost. The pale pink of her dress fluttering out of sight.





	as the flowers wilt and my will wanes

 

_Her_ ghost lingers in their house.

She sees her hanging over Cloud’s shoulder, her presence as poignant as the sickly sweet scent of the freshly cut lilies in the vase on their table. The vase was simple, green stained glass, a house warming gift from Barret. It had remained wrapped and unused for over three months until one day she found it sitting on the table; three yellow lilies, squashed haphazardly into the vase.

She had stared at them wistfully then. Thinking of the woman she had cared for like a sister, before moving to carefully arrange them in a way they weren’t at risk of overbalancing.

She had wondered at the time, her hand clasped loosely in Cloud’s, whether he would replace the flowers when they began to wilt. She had found herself staring at the lilies, thinking of her gentle smile and the floral perfume that trailed after her, only pulled back into the present by Cloud’s firm grip.

She had kept her face neutral, only smiling gently at the thoughtful look he sent her way. Cloud was always overwhelmed by his own emotions. Always terribly concerned for those who surrounded him, while totally incapable of reading other people. The expression furrowed his brow, making him seem younger.

_I miss her too, you know._ She could imagine the words spilling into the background of the conversation. The way he would shift, fixing his attention on her face. She wondered what he would say. She had never been able to predict what he would do, despite being able to read the emotions off his face like an open book. She decided then to make sure he wouldn’t catch her staring at them again.

Maybe if she had said something then, she wouldn’t be looking at the same lilies a year later.

She never replaced them. He never replaced him- though she did find him changing the water regularly. They didn’t show a single sign of degradation, the petals still as soft and plump as if they had only been picked minutes ago. She wondered if it was some form of residual Cetra magic keeping them alive. She wondered if it was her ghost, tending to them even from the lifestream.

Sometimes, when she walked down the steps in the early morning- when the light would reflected off the dust floating in the air- she would see a glimpse of her ghost. The pale pink of her dress fluttering out of sight. She would pause, before rubbing the last of the sleep from her eyes.

She considered getting rid of them only once. She could always tell when Cloud had been to her church, between the grass stains on his boots and the redness under his eyes. But he had been gone more and more since Denzel caught the GeoStigma. She felt anger boil in her gut, that he would abandon them when they needed him most for the memory of a dead woman.

He had been gone for over two weeks, not coming back even to sleep or maintenance his bike between deliveries. She had called him again, not having the strength to keep her voice even enough to leave him a message. She placed the phone carefully in the receiver before pressing her gloved hands flat on the benchtop. Her entire body was trembling with directionless energy.

She had glanced up, her eyes falling immediately to the flowers. Her flowers in their home. She could taste bile in the back of her mouth. Her expression scrunching up in an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint as she took a step towards them. She reached out with all the intention to smash, to break, to crush. Ugly emotions she didn’t allow herself to embrace since she had last fought seriously.

She paused, her arm suspended.

_Was this who she was?_ A lonely, angry woman, willing to take out her emotions on the memory of a dead woman. She loved Aerith, like she’d never loved another woman. She remembered lying shoulder to shoulder, starring up at the stars. They had talked about what they would do, once everything was over. How she would reopen 7th Heaven, and Aerith would open her own florist shop, filling Midgar with the flowers and greenery it sorely lacked. The leather of her glove creaked as she clenched her fist. She couldn’t deny the jealousy that rolled through her like poison, but she wouldn’t let it control her.

She took another step forward reaching gently for the vase. She had never understood the relationship Cloud and Aerith had shared. They had stared at each other with love and affection, but both too hesitant to act on it beyond fleeting glances and aborted touches. As if they were uncertain if it was their own emotions pulling them to one another, or the confused memories of a dead man.

With a hurricane of emotions battling within her, she delicately removed the flowers. She changed the murky water, carefully stirring sugar into the water until it was totally dissolved before replacing the lilies. And she placed the vase back on the center of the table. She felt hatred then, staring at the poignant reminder of her in their home. But she also felt she had done the right thing. She thought of the murmured, _I love yous_ , Cloud and her had shared and couldn’t feel regret, despite the quiet resentment that burnt behind her eyes.

When Cloud returned, she found herself looking at her own anxiety mirrored in his face. She forced herself to look past the flowers, towards him. If he ever caught her staring, well, Cloud never said anything, and neither would she. His hand was warm in hers, the heat penetrating through both of their gloves, and that was the only thing that had ever really mattered.

Still, she wondered if she would ever be free of her mark on their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> I wish this site didn't eat my formatting.


End file.
